


One of Your French Boys

by gretaamyk



Category: CM, Criminal Minds, Matthew Gray Gubler - Fandom, Spencer Reid - Fandom, mgg - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Smut, Spencer Reid imagine, criminal minds - Freeform, matthew gray gubler - Freeform, matthew gray gubler imagine, matthew gray gubler self insert, matthew gray gubler x reader - Freeform, spencer reid x reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26588362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gretaamyk/pseuds/gretaamyk
Summary: Y/n is an artist and she’s lacking inspiration, so Matthew gives her something to paint.
Relationships: Matthew Gray Gubler/Reader
Kudos: 57





	One of Your French Boys

Usually I liked painting in my studio, where I was alone with my thoughts and no one could tell me what to do. It was my happy place in there. Small sketches scattered on the floor like lily pads, the pleasant scent of the ink and oil filled the room, and my very first paintings hung on the walls. My earliest paintings weren’t particularly impressive, explaining why they were here instead of in the home of a collector. But, their energies had reminded me of a time where whenever I painted it was for myself. I wasn’t worried about money, or getting publicity, or my irritating manager. I was just drawing what made me happy. I seemed to have forgotten what that felt like.

Presently, I had moved my entire set up into my bedroom, desperately needing a change of scenery. I was begging for inspiration that I didn’t have, but I hoped that I would find it in front of the big windows looking down on the city streets. 

Lamentably, I felt nothing.

Every artist experiences existential crises at various points during their career. Some of them would happen after you become successful and you become more greedy for praise. You get trapped trying to please everyone, worrying that you could loose everything you had as fast as you got it. And that’s what I was afraid of becoming, a marionette who was tearing at the seams in attempt to meet everyone else’s expectations. However, I was not at that point yet. Instead I faced a different issue, the opposite one. The commissions for my work was coming in scarcely, so I figured I needed to make something now. The thought was that if I can make something amazing and promoted it, I would be back in business. However, making art with the promise of being amazing was an overwhelming weight to carry by yourself, and that was true no matter what stage you were in your career.

I heard the front door unlock and open as Matthew came home. Oh, thank god! I thought, his voice was the perfect distraction. He had a calming aura, and his presence was always incredibly beneficial to my mentality.

“Baby, I’m home!” he called and I hopped off my stool and ran down to meet him. I enveloped him in a tight hug. I felt a laugh vibrate through his chest and I inhaled his scent, but then he slowly pulled me off of him. “Are you alright?”

I sighed and rubbed my face with my hands, that was a difficult question to answer. “Yeah, it’s just I can’t get inspired for the life of me.” I finally said. I felt his arms pull me back into his chest and words of reassurance slipped off his tongue. “Hey, Gube?” I asked softly, accidentally cutting him off. He hummed in response, “You’re a model, right?”

He stepped back and looked down at his outfit. He was wearing bright purple pants, an alien shirt, and his usual mismatched socks (one pumpkins and the other dinosaurs). He looked up at me with a goofy, childlike grin. “You bet your ass I am… But I think that that’s kind of a relative question.”

You smiled at his answer, and reached out to touch his goofy shirt. He was in fact a model, for Marc Jacobs and Tommy Hilfiger among others. You always loved his Avant Garde style, but it wasn’t what people would have generally expected for an American Eagle model to be wearing. 

“Can you model for me?” I asked sweetly with a little smile.

He made a face. “Y/n, I think you know by now that I am physically incapable of sitting still for that long.”

I stuck out my bottom lip in a pout, which always seemed to work with him. “But Matthew, the only thing worth painting right now is my beautiful boyfriend. Pretty please?”

He brought his hand up to push the bridge of his glasses up and I saw contemplation in his coffee eyes. I knew I had him, but he pretended to begrudge his response, “Fine, but you have to watch the Muppets Christmas Carol with me again.”

“Deal.” I smiled at him, “Let’s go get you changed.”

“You mean you don’t want to paint me in this outfit?”

“Um… not particularly.” I joked which made him giggle. I looked at his face and took of his glasses, he complained that he couldn’t see, but I needed an idea of what he should be embodying. I smiled as he looked at me, he reminded me of a small puppy. He really was beautiful. The, an idea came into my head. “How would you feel about wearing one of your kimonos?”

His eyes lit up and he popped his classes back on, “That’s exactly what I hoped you would say. Let’s go!” he ran towards his ‘Special Kimono Closet’ that was by the front door. I followed behind him and he opened the door. I reached in and dragged my fingers along the various soft fabrics, before I landed on a pale green one. I touched it and I immediately saw an image in my head

I saw our Tufted Chaise Lounge that I begged Spencer to let me buy at an estate sale. In its emerald cushions, Matthew lounged, his body daintily posed like someone out of an old Victorian masterpiece. His pale skin was in perfect contrast with the deep gemstone color of the love seat. The pale fabric of the Kimono was around him, but only barely. He wore it down around his elbows and it idoneously covered his lap, though he was still largely exposed. He was in a forest landscape, though sun crept through the canopy and it illuminated the high points of his body. He basked in its rays and looked peaceful, but his eyes were on me with a soft expression on his face. I remembered that look on his face from a real moment in our past together. 

Matthew and I were playing the Farming Game together, a year or so into our relationship. It was a goofy but nonetheless depressing simulator board game, where you would play as a farmer are try to survive and make a living. His farmer had broken his back and was sent to the start of the game for the fourth time and I could have sworn he was on the verge of tears. I had tears in my eyes too, but from exhausted laughter rather than frustration. This game was no joke, and when playing it to its entirety, it could last days. But finally, I won. I jumped out of my seat with relieved glee, and I cheered. Matthews jaw dropped.

“You played me!” He exclaimed through a bitter laugh.

“Like the cheap kazoo you are!” I joked as I continued to dance around the room. And he just watched me with an unreadable expression. It was three am and we had just finished a game that we were certain had no end, but I was dancing like an excitable toddler who had just woken up from a nap.

“Y/n?” He asked, I hummed. “I think I’m in love with you.” He finally said. I immediately stopped dancing. I looked at the expression on his face and personally scrapbooked it into my memory. It would be forever recognized as one of the most incredible things I’ve ever seen in my life. That was the face I needed to relive over and over again, feeling the butterflies flutter in my stomach every time I did.

I didn’t realize that I was zoned into the fantasy of my imagination for so long before Matthew snapped me back to reality with the snap of his fingers. “What was that?” He laughed, “You we’re gone for a hot minute.”

“I have a plan. Help me move the green couch into the bedroom.” I said. His face asked why we don’t just move the easel downstairs, but at this point he knew not to question me when it comes to my work. At least not out loud.

We struggled to get the couch upstairs, but after executing the task I ordered him to get ready quickly as I set the scene. I took some earth toned throw pillows, fluffing and throwing them down in a way that looks like it grew there with the grass and trees. I then moved the tall lamp to behind the couch, so to mimic the sun shining down on him like it did in my vision. I opened the drapes to the windows even further to bring in a natural glow, but I turned over my shoulder when I heard him enter the room again. 

He had a shy smile on his face as I gestured towards the daybed for him to lie down on. This was an innocent act in theory, but it was intimate too. And somehow, it felt slightly erotic. 

“I want you to draw me like one of your French boys.” He joked, referencing the big movie that we were so close to recreating here in this moment. I laughed, his words seemed to erase the rigidity that was trapped in the room with us. I was happy that he was still being my silly boy, even in this unusual relationship situation.

“Okay, Rose, I will.” I reference back to the Titanic, “Do you mind if I fix your Kimono a bit?” I asked, and he wordlessly nodded. The man was always so ready to put himself out in front of the world, but he was receding into his self. I wanted to remind him that it was only me. He stiffened up as I undid the kimono belt tie. I never exposed him, I covered his nether region with the cloth, but he seemed to feel more naked than if I had removed the cloth completely.

“Am… am I going to be completely naked?” He asked, his voice so virtuous that I couldn’t help but grin. I slid the kimono sleeves to be down around his elbows like I had pictured, making his torso, hips, and legs bare. 

“I wont show your junk, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Okay, but if you change your mind, please be generous okay? I don’t want anyone to see this and be like ’Gube has a tiny wiener’.” He joked but his voice seemed totally serious, like this was a genuine concern of his.

I smiled back and reassured, “Sweetie, I don’t need to be generous. You’re… impressive as it is.” He giggled at my comment and finally began to relax into the seat, but redness came into his cheeks again nonetheless. I never admitted it aloud, but making Matthew blush had become my favorite activity ever since we met.

“What do you want me to do?”

I felt like one of the directors at the set of his workplace, I liked being able to mold him just how I wanted and make my vision become real. I instructed him to rest his right arm over the arm of the couch and his left arm to bend at the elbow and rest his hand in his fluffy hair. Finally, I was able to mark the canvas. I used light pressure on graphite to sketch the rough outline of where his body was as well as the cushion he reclined on like a Greek Emperor, he just needed someone to delicately feed him grapes. And if he had asked me to, I would have agreed so fast I would get whiplash. 

For the first hour, it was a bit of a disaster. Matthew just couldn’t remain still. He was shifting in his seat, playing with his fingers, or somehow always finding a place on his body that he needed to scratch. I apologized to him that it was taking a long time, but I also explained that he would need to be sitting there for several more hours, until his figure was completed on the canvas. But he had assured me that It was no big deal, and that he genuinely wanted to help me. Matthew was always good at being honest with me, as was I with him. It was one of the things that made our relationship so special, and what made it so different than any relationship I had ever been in before. I knew that if something was wrong then he would tell me. On that note I relaxed before making him promise to do the same. On a normal painting, I would have preferred to have sketched out the entire scene. But both Matthew and I were impatient and I decided that finishing him was the best choice for us in this moment. Plus, I was incredibly excited to see how he would turn out reimagined as a mythical being, or perhaps an ancient lord. He somehow embodied both.

It was finally time to break out the paints, and I let him take a break as I set my new materials up. I prepared the canvas and oil paints, and I tried to color match to the couch, the pillows, the kimono, and of course Matthew. That was the part I was mostly conscientious about. I wanted to do him justice, as I have never had the privilege of painting him before. I took the most time attempting to match the colors to the ethereal chocolate hue of his eyes, complete with the golden flecks within them when the sun hit them just right. 

I was so engrossed with the idea of the finished product that the next few hours went by without me. I concentrated on the brush moving hypnotically on the greased surface, and I gave incredible attention to details when the time came. I wanted to incorporate the perfectly distinct curls in his fluffy hair, the peachy blush that comes into his face when I compliment him, and the freckles that dotted his skin like constellations. I created the dimples in his cheeks, the lines of his muscles, and the details in his fingers. I loved looking at his hands. They were strong and skilled and I loved how they seemed to know my body like a book he’s read a thousand times. I let out a happy hum looking at them, happy that I had an excuse to. I love my job. Then I used my brush to paint the lines of his lower abs that created an arrow leading to his member hidden under the thin cloth. Heat came into my cheeks as I found myself needing to stare at his bulge in order to paint it right.

He noticed and let out an amused chuckle, “Are you blushing? Miss Big Artiste?” I shook my head and continued to paint the fabric. I knew he wasn’t finished, and he kept speaking. “I cant imagine Monsieur Bob Ross blushing.”

“He does landscapes.” I said with a giggle, “Now relax your face. No laughing.”  
I brought my brush back up to the figures face, but I didn’t dare touch it to the wet linen. Something was off, the expression wasn’t right. I frowned, I had the image forever ingrained into my mind, I should be able to get it right. But it just wasn’t translating how I needed it to.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asked worriedly, noting the expression on my face. I wondered why he always blamed himself for everything.

“I can’t get this little detail right… I think it might drive me insane.” I said with defeat, wiping my forehead with the back of my wrist. 

“I’m sure it’s alright. Show me where.” his voice instructed lowly. I reached up to the part of the painting in question, making sure to not touch the wet beads of paint on the canvas, “No, baby, I meant on me.”

I blinked, “N-nothings wrong with you.” I stammered. How did he still manage to make me so shy? He would look at me and I’d melt into the floor like a popsicle left out in the sun. It took no effort.

“Why don’t you humor me?” He said, phrasing it like a question, but I knew that It was a command. I sputtered out a small 'Okay’ and stood up. I wiping my paint covered hands off on a rag, but at this point the paint was dry and I was only wiping away sweat. I approached him and touched the soft skin on his face with the tips of my fingers.

“I cant get your facial expression right,” I explained, barely above a whisper. He grabbed my hand in his, and dragged my hand down the length of his torso. His eyes kept on me and I made myself stare back, though the breath seemed to fall from my lungs like a deflating balloon, and he was the hand that squeezed it all out. It was incredible how the boy with the jokes flipped a switch in his brain and suddenly he didn’t find the situation so funny anymore. “Then maybe you should focus on somewhere else, hm? Really get a feel of what you’re working with.”

Then, he put my hand on the growing tent in the fabric. He palmed himself with my hand and closed his eyes, letting out a deep, guttural moan that put pulsations in my core. When he opened his eyes again, we looked at each other for just a moment before he flipped us over and he was hovering on top of me.  
He attached his lips to my slightly parted ones and kissed me hungrily, to which I kissed him back with equal enthusiasm. He shrugged off the fabric that covered him which left him completely naked. Judging by the way his fingers immediately found themselves playing with the hem of my shirt, he wanted to make sure I would soon be too.

“I know it’s your job to examine every inch of my body, But I want you to know that I was doing the exact same thing to you. ” He spoke against my lips, his innocent words sounded so lewd with the low timbre his voice held. “What expression do you need me to do? I bet it’s the one I make when I come deep inside that pussy of yours. I know that I think about it all the time.” His breath was hot against my neck as he moved down, sending shiver down my body and make my pussy throb like a beating heart

“You do things to me, y/n, dirty things. And I won’t fucking rest until I get to do every disgusting thing that you put in my head by looking like that. I own you, and that pretty pussy is mine. Okay?”

“Yes, Sir,” I fumbled out clumsily, he opened his mouth in a smug smile and I could see his tongue run over his teeth. That was one of the habits he had that I noticed, and god, did that tongue do things to me. This side of him wasn’t something that anyone else got to see. I was his, no doubt. But in every way, he belonged to me just as much. He pulled my shirt off over me head before attaching his lips back against mine. His hands now found their signature place on each side of my face, as if he was trying to bring me even closer to him. My hands roamed the area of his chest, while his slid to my back to unhook my bra and further expose me to him. I arched my back to give him better access and then he slid it off my chest, his curious hands finding themselves in its place. He kneaded my breasts in his hands and I let out a breathy moan against his mouth. 

"Shit,” I muttered as his lips moved back down to my neck. I raked my hands through his hair and held him there against my skin. He sucked gently over my jugular, and my toes curled into the couch. I started to rock my hips steadily into the growing bulge pressed against my pubic bone. His hand pushed my hip down and halted my movement.

“Be patient, baby girl,” he taunted with his hand a gliding down my stomach at an achingly slow pace, causing wetness to pool in between my legs, “Good things come to those who wait.”

“I’ve been waiting for five fucking hours, I’ve done my time,” I joked and I felt him exhale a chuckle as he moved between the valley of my breaths. I let out a small, relaxed laugh as his fluffy hair tickled my breasts. He pressed a single kiss above my pelvis, and he finally grabbed the waist band to my shorts. He looked up at me with carnal eyes. I nodded softly but surely, and he slipped my shorts and soaked panties down my legs in one fluid motion.

“You’re so wet for me already, naughty girl. I’ve barely even touched you.” He mused looking at the wetness spilling out of me. He finally positioned himself in-between my thighs with his hands spreading my legs apart, he licked a stripe up my slit. His trained tongue ran between my folds and immediately blinded me with an overwhelming pleasure that I’ve only ever been given by him.

“Matthew!” I gasped breathily as his tongue dipped into my aching core. My eyes were squeezed shut and my hands found themselves tugging at the roots of his long hair. His responding moan sent vibrations rippling all the way through my writhing body. He was enjoying this, the way I squirmed at his every move and how I was so willingly laid out for him to devour. My legs wrapped around his body once his hands granted them movement and my heels dug into the base of his spine. 

His tongue skillfully swirled around my sensitive pearl, and then he slipped two long fingers into my pulsing heat. I couldn’t come up with coherent words or thoughts, or even his name, but I was a chorus of pleasured cries and mewls at his disposal. His fingers pumped faster as he slid a third digit into me, hitting places I would never be able to hit if I was in the lonely company of no one but myself. 

He sucked at my clit like he was starving and I contorted at the overwhelming sensation. His fingers hit my sensitive spot over and over again I careened out distorted cries to the beat of his perpetual ministrations. I let my head fall back, but continued to hold him against my core. His movement evolved from long laps to short flicks to my clit as he forcefully pumped his digits in and out of me, rapidly building up to my release. When I arched my back, his free hand pushed me back down and refused to let me move.

“Fuck, Matthew!” I screamed, squirming beneath his sure grip. His tongue and his fingers increased their speed in synch with each other, and threatened to push me over the edge. He laughed at the pathetic desperation from inside me, his hummed vibrations reverberating and edging a wave of spasms throughout my weak body. I came onto his tongue and fingers, and he drew my orgasm out as long as he could, until I reached the desperate point of overstimulation. Then he made a show of sucking the juices from my arousal off of his long fingers, making unwavering eye contact with me.

“I swear to god, you taste like candy.” He praised, crawling on top of me and supporting himself up by his forearms. He returned his lips to their previous place on mine, and I could taste myself on his tongue.

He broke apart from me and he looked down at me with a transparent fondness that made my heart swell, despite our current state. That was the face I needed, that was the one I would put on the painting and relieve over and over again for the rest of my life. I brushed the hair away from his forehead, and he smiled sweetly at me. How did he manage to look so angelic, even after preforming the most unholy acts?

He then sunk himself all the way into me without warning, and I gasped loudly at the sudden sensation of being completely full. I stretched out with him inside me, even after he just prepared me for it so proficiently with his fingers. The guttural moan he let slip from his pretty pink lips was the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.  
“You’re so fucking tight,” He whispered lewdly, his voice was so deep with desire, that I might have missed his words entirely if I wasn’t so entranced by him. He started to move inside of me. His pace became even and composed the more he thrust into me.

Then, he pulled himself all he way out of me before ramming all the way back in. His hips snapped forward and bottomed out inside me. I couldn’t stop the cries and moans from slipping off my tongue at the sensation, which was more than enough encouragement for him to do it again.

I couldn’t breathe as he fucked me into the cushions of the couch, but I was enjoying the harsh sting as his skin slapped into mine. He propped himself up on one of his elbows and used his other hand to roam my body, like he was reading a story written in brail across my skin and he didn’t want to miss a word. His hand reached up to cup my face, his thumb grazed over my lips that were agape from blissful stimulation. He slid his thumb inside my mouth and pressed down my tongue. My lips wrapped around his thumb and I sucked while keeping perfect eye contact with him as me pounded into me. 

“You look so fucking hot right now, taking my cock like a good girl.” He praised, earning a moan in response, strained from the finger muting my sounds from inside my mouth. His hair was stuck to his forehead from beads of sweat, and his skin was flushed from the exertion. He looked incredible like this. 

“Fu-uck,” he dragged out his profanity in a long, shaky moan. I wasn’t going to last much longer, but based on how his cock twitched from deep within me, I knew that he was nearing his finish too. He let his eyes close and his head fall back as he pulled his hand out of my mouth to support him up.

“Matthew, Look at me,” I gasped out in between breaths, “I want to see your eyes when you come inside my pussy.”

His eyes immediately snapped back to meet mine again. A smirk twitched across his face, “Naughty girl! Do you speak to your mother with that mouth?”

“No, only to my daddy.” I teased with a joking tone to my voice. Matthew stopped. He looked down at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes and a smirk ghosting across his lips. I’ve never called him that before, but based on his reaction he was rather excited by it.

“Oh, do you now?” He asked unchastely, “I think I like the sound of that coming out of your mouth.” He promptly continued his movements, but they became frenetic and stunted in just a matter of seconds. His name fell off my tongue in whispered chants, my head was spinning and I was ready to lose it. Unable to control it, I felt myself pulse around his cock, silently encouraging him to finish with me.

He slammed roughly back into me one more time, our hips connecting together forcefully and he held me down. I reached my high, my body seizing as my orgasm rippled through my body. But, I made sure to keep my eyes open to see what he looked like as I felt him pour inside of me.

His gaze had remained on my like I had asked, his mouth was widely agape and it spilled out curses and gentle praises a long string of moans. His skin was flushed pink, and warm. The way his big eyes looked down at me was more than virtuous and It gave me warm a feeling inside, and one separate from the feeling off our arousal that were now spilling out of me. Something inside of me wanted to put that face on the painting instead, the expression of complete and utter euphoria.

He finally pulled out of me after a final few sloppy thrusts, and he fell on top of me and we both laughed tiredly. The couch was significantly too small for the both of us, but that didn’t really matter. I scooted over a little so he could lay beside me and not crush me with his weight. His large hand ran gently over my naked stomach. I looked at him and he was already smiling at me. 

"Hi,” he said softly, making me laugh.

“Hi, baby.” I turned my body so we were facing each other. His arm snuck around my back and pulled me into his embrace.

“You’re pretty.” His simple sweet words tickled my skin with his breath, and it sent a shiver down my spine. 

“You’re pretty, Matthew.” I pressed my cheek against his chest, glistening from our activity. I listened to his heartbeat and took in the smell of him, cloves and warm vanilla. I let my eyes close softly, sleepy from the sex but also from the late hour of night. We were in the already in the bedroom, with our king sized bed to our side. But instead, we found ourselves falling asleep on the diminutive couch meant for one. We were an awkward mess of tangled limbs but I was content there because we were closer than two people could possibly be.

-

I spent the entire weekend working on the rest of the painting, and perfecting the details on it. I did extensive research too, about the specific types of trees and the field of vegetation that surrounded Matthews figure.

He wanted to see the painting as I reworked it, but once I no longer needed him to model, I made it clear that he couldn’t look at it until it was done. I finally managed to get his face perfect. Perfect, just like the real thing. Now I just spent time on his surroundings, which was a lot easier to do. Especially since I didn’t need a superbly distracting model to imitate this time.

The journey I went on creating this painting was one of my favorites. But, I felt relief wash over me as the last layer of varnish was finally dried. It was done and I had completed the first work of art that I’ve been proud of in a long time. 

I pulled it off the drying rack in the studio and a held it in my hands, looking down at it like a proud mother. I left the room and went to the downstairs living room where Matthew sat, immersed in a vintage book he randomly remembered we owned. He always found beauty in the strange and the forgotten, which was why the castle-esque house we had the blessing to live in was built the way it was.

I silently propped the painting up on the mantel of the stone fireplace. It was a fireplace that Matthew proudly built himself, so it just made perfect sense to be a display of all of our artistic compositions. 

Matthew didn’t say anything, so I assumed he didn’t notice. But then I felt his cordial presence come behind me, and then his hands placed themselves gently on my hips. He pulled my body into his and hugged my waist while rested his head on my shoulder. I hummed happily, resting my hands on the belt he created from his arms.

“It’s a masterpiece.” he said before placing a kiss to my shoulder. I smiled and rubbed his hands.

“You’re only saying that because you’re in it.”

“No, I’m not!” he said with false offence, “Everything you make is absolutely incredible. Don’t sell yourself short.” I broke apart from his grasp, and moved to sit over on the couch that was in the painting. I wouldn’t be able to think of this couch in the same way ever again, in the best possible way. He sat next to me, moving the book he was reading out of the way and putting it on the table. I looked further at my work, and a frown slowly came to my face. The reason I made it was so I could put a price tag on it and give it away to help my career take off. But I was looking at it now and I thought, how on earth would I be able to give this away? Matthew noticed and looked at me with slight concern. “What’s wrong?” He asked delicately.

“I was planning on putting this up for sale, but I don’t think I’ll be able to give it away." 

"Well, shit,” He smirked and placed his hand firmly on my thigh. I saw a mischievous glint in his eyes, one that I recognized from the time we had together that night. “I guess we’ll just have to make another, then, huh?”


End file.
